


Five Times Din and Cobb protected you - and one time they didn’t have to

by SeventhSister



Series: A Mandalorian, a Marshal and some complicated feelings [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhSister/pseuds/SeventhSister
Summary: The title says it all.Five Times Din and Cobb protected you, saved you, or just cared for you - and one time they didn’t have to.It's just self-indulgent fluff to make you feel safe and loved, enjoy!Those small stories are set in the same timeframe than my fic “Two saviors and some hope”. I strongly advise you read it first!
Relationships: Cobb Vanth/Reader, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth/Reader, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Series: A Mandalorian, a Marshal and some complicated feelings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013346
Comments: 12
Kudos: 107





	1. The bruises (Cobb/Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> *READ ME*  
> -> AU : after ep 1 of season 2, Din is staying a few months in Mos Pelgo, and lets Cobb Vanth wear Boba Fett armor even though Din now owns it. Reader has been saved from slavery by Din and Cobb, and now lives in Cobb's home. Read my fic "Two saviors and some hope" for the whole backstory.  
> -> TW: canon-typical violence, alcohol, brief mention of past abuse, sexual harassment, depiction of PTSD  
> -> pronouns: neutral pronouns for reader  
> -> English is not my native language, please be kind

The first time is the day after Din and Cobb saved you from the slaver in the market of Mos Pelgo. The Marshal had already noticed the bruises left on your upper arm by the mean grip of your captor’s hand. He too was a slave once, and he knows. Worse than the pain, is the actual humiliation of seeing on one’s own body the bruises and cuts inflicted by a tormentor. In the afternoon, he comes home with some sort of ointment he bought off of an old lady that is kind of a healer. He offers to apply it for you. The swelling wraps all around your arm, making it difficult for you to reach on your own. You agree. 

He’s quick and focused on the task, and you guess it’s not the first time he has to do something like this. His gentleness is almost startling, such a contrast with the faceless authoritarian figure he was just the day before, when you first encountered him. When he’s done, you can already feel the balm starting to soothe the pain. Although you’re not so sure whether it’s thanks to the actual ointment or the calming warmth of his hands against your abused flesh. 

He wants to give you the small bottle containing the medication, but you explain you don’t have any credit to pay him back, cheeks hot with shame. His smile is bright and honest, and he assures you you don’t owe him anything. You thank him in a whisper. And you thank the Maker as well for sending him on your path.


	2. The cantina (Din/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devaronians are an alien species with a human-like figure, reddish or orange skin, pointy ears, two white horns and sharp teeth. Their bodies are denser than most humanoids' and as a result they are heavier than their appearance would tend to indicate. Yes they are canon.

The second time happened during a weekday night. The bartender of the local cantina had an errand to run and asked you to replace him. Him being a dear friend of Cobb, you have accepted. Being a barmaid is one of the many previous jobs you have already done, and it is actually a nice distraction. It also is a nice way to earn some credits, let’s be honest. 

As the evening unrolls pretty peacefully, a group of very loud male Devaronians enter the cantina, and you can smell trouble as soon they step a foot inside. You’ve already seen them around town for the past couple days, they seem to be resting here for a while before travelling further into the desert. Although their stay is temporary, they’ve managed to make themselves known to the local population as pretty annoying, searching to start a scrap more often than not. 

They settle at the bar, ordering a round of spotchka, before one of them starts speaking about you like you weren’t there.  
“Hey what a pretty human we have here… I’ve heard humans are all soft and light, ‘wonder what they could taste like!” He follows the declaration by an obscene sound of mouth and an exaggerated lick of his giant tongue on his lips. His friends let out silly sneers at the dirty joke.  
You roll your eyes, when another expands:  
“Ugh, I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat humans, you know, I’ve heard they’re all bones and no meat.”  
“No, not like this Kard’ye, Kriff, you’re so stupid.”  
The whole group laughs loudly, while the aforementioned Kard’ye struggles to understand the innuendo of his camrade. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or a natural lack of intelligence, but they indeed all look pretty dumb. 

Lucky for you, they let you out of their next conversations, and you tend to the rare other clients, praying for the Devaronians to leave soon.  
The night goes on, and you’re preparing to close the bar. All the patrons quickly leave, except for the bunch of Devaronians, of course. Just before you can tell them to go somewhere else, they order a whole round of the strongest - and most expensive - alcohol you have. You consider refusing, but you don’t want to be the one explaining to your employer why you let so many credits go away. 

“This is your very last round, ok?” you finally say, not even trying to hide the exasperation in your voice. 

As you’re serving them, you have a short moment of absence and the heavy bottle of alcohol escapes your hands. You try to catch it back with a gasp, but the brown thick drink ends up all over the counter and on the jacket of one of the Devaronians.  
“I’m so sorry! Let me cl…” you don’t have the time to end your apology that the thug grabs your faulty arm and pulls it toward him, your ribs hitting violently the countertop in the movement. You freeze, the memory of a similar situation suddenly invading your mind. The cruel hand of your captor. The burning sand beneath your feet. The feeling of despair. It’s all back at the front of your mind. The world is shutting down around you, it’s like you’re floating and being stuck at the same time.

“You stupid human, look at the mess you’ve made! You need a correction, maybe Kard’ye is right, I should actually take a bite, just to try…” the creature growls with a vicious smile, revealing two sets of sharp teeth. He tugs your hand closer, like he’s really gonna bite your fingers off. You can feel his lukewarm and disgusting breath on your skin but you’re incapable to move, completely frozen. 

“Actually you shouldn’t”  
the familiar filtered voice takes you out of your paralysis. There is the sound of a blaster getting armed.  
“Or you won’t have any teeth left.”  
Din adds while pressing his blaster’s barrel up against the jaw of your aggressor. 

There is a little bit of mayhem as the group of Devaronians pull out their own weapons, stepping back and shouting in surprise.  
Your attacker lets go of your arm, and turns slowly to face the Mandalorian. The threat of a fight is floating in the air as the orange-skinned alien is deciding whether to take offense or not. 

His smile gets bigger and he raises both his hands in a mockery of surrender.  
“A Mandalorian, what a surprise! Are you a Marshal as well? Or maybe you just happen to share the same closet...” his drunk friends giggle at the implication.

“I’m no Marshal. And I make my own justice. Wanna try it?” He says, his blaster sinking a little deeper into the creature’s cheek.  
His voice is so steady and emotionless it’s borderline scary.  
“And if you think you’re insulting me by implying the actual Marshal of this town, the most brave man that I know, is my partner, then you’re even stupider than what I thought.”

The tension is thick as the smile on the Devaronian’s face disappears. He snorts loudly and spits on the floor, in a pathetic attempt to regain some stature.

“Well guys, let’s go out of this rat hole, the spotchka wasn’t even good anyway.” he says aloud for the whole group to hear. His companions grumble last threats while leaving the place. 

Mando’s blaster is still aiming at their back as they walk out of the cantina, and as soon as the last one of them is in the street, he walks behind the counter and seals the door behind them with the push of a button. You watch him act, but you’re still stuck in the same position, your mind blank. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” you can hear the worry in his voice this time. You want to answer but you can’t, you open your mouth but you’re unable to produce a sound. You’re slowly coming back to your senses, tears of fear prickling in your eyes after the fact, like your emotions are just now catching up with what happened. 

You’re desperately looking at Mando’s visor, searching for something, anything that would help you ease the wave of terror that’s preventing you from speaking.  
“Hey, you’re safe now, I’m here, they’re gone” he whispers, closing prudently the distance between you two, before pulling you gently in his embrace. 

You wince when your injured ribs bump into the beskar of his breastplate, but at least the physical pain helps you get back to the here and now. He lets go immediately, startled, taking a step back. 

“I… I’m gonna be fine.” you finally find the strength to speak to reassure him.  
“You’re a strong one, I’m sure you will.” There is no irony in his voice. His visor tips slightly down, toward your ribs. “Let’s go home and have Cobb take a look at this, okay?”  
You nod in agreement. 

“I’ll come back and clean this mess.” he adds finally, while looking at the drink spilled all over the counter. Then his voice gets lower, laced with threat “And after that, I think I also have a few things to clean with some Devaronians.”


	3. The language (Din/Reader)

The third time is all about a misunderstanding.

You go on your day, out in the streets of Mos Pelgo to buy some food. You still avoid the marketplace since it has a few brutal memories attached to it that are still too fresh, but it’s okay because you usually find what you want in the small shop next to the cantina.

As you make your way out, arms full of supplies, you miss a step and accidentally bump into a Tusken. Your groceries fell on the ground as you try to catch your footing, and you apologize while picking everything up, too embarrassed to look up at the stranger you just pushed. But the language barrier is not working in your favor, and the Tusken is quite upset. You know their tribe is not always welcome in town and the tensions were already pretty high long before you arrived.

You try desperately to remember the few gestures Din taught you, but you’re panicking and afraid to sign something wrong, making the situation even worse. The angry grunts of the Tusken are not stopping, and you try to apologize again, but to no avail. The loud quarrel doesn’t go unnoticed. More and more bystanders are stopping to look at the scene, and soon, there are quite a handful of villagers and Tusken around you both. Some of them start to take sides, humans insulting the Tusken, and Tuskens raising threatening fists at the town inhabitants.

It’s all going down pretty quickly, until you catch the shining glimpse of a beskar armor, and the rumble of a deep modulated voice. Mando parts the crowd, plants himself in front of the Tusken and signs in annoyed short gestures. He seems tired of this. Playing the peace keeper and the translator for two opposing sides was an honorable mission at first, but it begins to be more troublesome and repetitive those days. You can’t really blame Mando, when the townsfolk are not making the slightest efforts to include the Tusken tribe - and the desert warriors are not really helpful either. Nonetheless, you watch as Din tries his best to avoid a fight and calm the tensions. After a few back and forth, the offended Tusken finally shakes his head, weary, and signals to his group it’s time to leave. You’re relieved, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

The crowd is dispersed, and Din helps you pick up the last of the food supply still on the ground. After a while, Mando finally breaks the silence between you.

“I’m sorry.

He answers your surprised look with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry you had to end up in the middle of this nonsense while you had nothing to do with it in the first place.”

“I am sorry too, I mean, I failed you. You taught me how to sign their language and I couldn’t even remember how to say sorry. I’m a bad student... Or maybe _you’re a bad teacher?_ ” you let out a half-hearted giggle, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Din’s visor drops slightly and you swear you've heard a chuckle.

At least you still remember how to make him smile.


	4. The scar (Cobb/Reader)

The fourth time is a night when the pain in your back wakes you up.

Again.

You know you need to find a competent medical droid to fix what has become a chronic pain, but it’s easier said than done when you live in a small town lost in the desert on Tatooine. You turn in your bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, but after a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts you give up. With an exasperated sigh, you get up. The call from the painkillers still stored in your roommate's bedroom and the promise of an oblivious sleep is too strong. With some luck, you might even be able to sneak under Cobb’s blanket (you know he sleeps alone tonight) and cuddle against his warm chest without waking him up.

With silent steps, you sneak into his room, and quickly find what you’re looking for. It would be way convenient to have the medication stored elsewhere, but you suspect he deliberately keeps it there, so he can keep a tab of your consumption. _Was he afraid of you getting addicted to the drug? And wasn’t he right to be so?_

A voice interrupts your train of thoughts before you can step outside of the room.

“Leave the pills. And come here.”

You feel like a kid caught with their hands in the sweet-sand cookie jar.

“Please, sweetheart. Don’t make me get up.” you guess a smile behind the voice hoarse with sleep.

But you’re annoyed, your back hurts and he has no rights giving you order, he’s definitely not your _dad_ or anything.

“I’m hurting, Cobb, and I can’t sleep, let me have that.” your answer is more curt than you want to.

“I’ll rub your back.” he offers. “Come here”.

He’s being really patient with you, and it’s even more annoying because now you can’t say no.

You lay on your stomach next to him and he straddles you, one leg on each side of your body, resting ever so lightly on your hips. He asks if you’d prefer to remove your top, and you fumble to push it over your head. Big hands are splayed on your back and you suddenly feel so small under the giant Marshal. It’s like he could cover your entire back with just his two palms. He gently massages your shoulders before going lower, working the knots out of your contracted muscles. The slightly callused skin of his hands feels like heaven against yours. Until he touches your spine and pain courses through your nerves like a lightning bolt. You jerk and let out a repressed whimper.

“Sorry, dear.” he whispers, worried. “should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare.”

He starts again, careful, and despite some occasional - but weaker and weaker - surges of pain, you feel your entire body relax, and your eyelids getting heavier. The grounding feeling of Cobb’s body pressing against yours, the repetitive rhythm of his massage, the soft pillow under your cheek that smells like him: it doesn’t take long for your breath to get steadier as you slowly fall asleep. Before you’re totally gone, you feel Cobb’s lips leaving a gentle kiss on the scar on your back - the one you’re glad you kept as proof of the battles you’ve won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sweet-sand cookies" are a real canon Star Wars thing, I'm glad I'm writing fanfictions just to learn stuffs like this.


	5. The desert (Din/Cobb/Reader)

The fifth time involves the desert and a storm. 

  
In retrospect you really wonder what was going through your mind when you thought  _ this _ was a good idea. Leaving the safety of the town to go out in the desert. 

Alone. 

Just a couple hours before a sandstorm - a storm you knew where coming. 

But after another sleepless night due to the pain, and somewhat of a fight with Din (for stupid reasons you can barely remember now), you were more than upset. On edge, even.  And a quick trip out in the open would clear your mind, you thought. You would totally have time to come back before the announced sandstorm. 

_ Yeah sure _ . 

Except you hadn’t planned for the nav computer of the speeder bike you stole in Cobb’s frontyard to break. 

In the middle of nowhere.

Just dunes, and dunes, and  _ more kriffing dunes _ all over. 

The sky was cloudy, announcing the storm, so there was no way you could use the position of the two suns to help you figure out in which direction the town was. You tried to reboot the thing, even to disassemble it. Your attempts were useless. Fixing this computer was beyond your abilities. 

And here you were, sitting on a speeder bike with no idea where to go. Which would be scary enough. If a sandstorm wasn’t coming.

You’re used to joke about your poor sense of direction, but right now you’re just angry at your inaptitude and your carelessness. There is very little you can do. As far as you see, there is just sand. Not even an isolated farm, or some sort of rocky valley where you could hide. Nothing, but sand. On your right, you can see the horizon slowly darkening, the sandstorm inexorably moving towards you. 

_ So this is how I die _ , you think,  _ on my own, in the desert of some forsaken planet, because of a kriffing nav computer. I’ve survived some of the worst things this galaxy can throw at you, and THIS is it?  _

You don’t know if you want to laugh or scream or cry, so you just walk around the speeder bike for a few minutes to try and calm yourself before sitting down in the sand, your back against the useless vehicle. Your only chance of survival would be someone travelling through the area. But with the storm, any reasonable beings - that excludes you - would stay in their village and not go out. Cobb is probably too busy preparing the town for the tempest to notice your absence. And Din, well, with your little quarrel, he surely isn’t gonna come check on you, not realizing you were gone either. Even if they eventually notice it, it’s probably too late. 

You let your head fall back against the cold metal of the bike. The wind is getting clearly stronger by the minute, already picking up some dust. Soon it will become hard to keep your eyes open. Even hard to breathe.  You pull your scarf up on your mouth and nose. Silent tears briefly roll on your cheeks before getting trapped by the fabric. The last hope you had to cross someone’s path was dwindling with every second.  You look at the sky, swirls of brown dust staining the clear grey canvas above you. And then you notice a star, it’s weak at first, but it shines brighter and brighter. A deep tone, something too loud to be the sound of the wind, intensifies with it. 

It’s coming towards you real quick and it’s not a star. It’s the flames of a jetpack. And attached to said jetpack is the Mandalorian. You get on your feet, your heart racing, and for a moment you wonder if you’re hallucinating. But he lands gracefully on the dune’s crest, muscular figure all clad in beskar, impressive as always. You run in his embrace, the earlier fight forgotten. 

You want to explain, to apologize, to thank him, but there’s no time to lose. 

“You need to keep this scarf on your face, to grab me and to hang on strong. Don’t let go whatever happens, got it?” You nod, tears of relief clouding your vision.  “It may be a bumpy ride.”

He takes you into his arms, clutching you against him with all his strength and you’re both going up in the sky. His jetpack is at full power, trying to outrun the sandstorm. You can feel him straining against the wind, trying to protect you as best as he can from the flying grains of sand scraping your exposed skin. Unlike him, you’re not wearing any gloves or helmet, there’s no beskar between you and the world. 

Through squinting eyes, you can finally see Mos Pelgo in the distance, and as you approach the town, you’re joined by another jetpack wearer. You recognize the red and green of Cobb’s armor. They were both looking for you. 

It’s a matter of minutes, seconds almost, but you all reach the safety of Cobb’s home before the sandstorm fully hits the streets of Mos Pelgo. The door is closed in a hurry, all three of you tumbling in the small hall. The Mandalorian finally let you go, and you can feel his arms slightly shaking, muscles spasming after the long and grueling effort. The heavy jetpack is discarded on the ground with little care. His chest is rising quickly, his ragged breath creating weird sounds through the modulator of his helmet, a hand on the wall for support. 

You don’t really know what to say and you stand in the hallway, trying to catch your breath as well. You can hear Cobb fumbling to remove his armor and helmet, and as soon as he’s free, he hugs you, whispering reassuring words, although you’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or to himself. And when he lets go of his embrace, he turns to Din and hugs him as well, slightly lowering his head down and placing his forehead on his helmet, a sign you know of affection and love.

“Let’s get you out of your armor, cyar'ika” Cobb’s husky voice is warm but your heart stings at the word. It’s Mando’a and while you don’t know the exact translation, you’re sure it carries a lot of meaning with it. It dawns on you at that moment, your foolishness may have caused one of them to be injured _ or worse _ . 

You try to hide your self-loathing behind a blank face, and you start helping Cobb. You work in silence, removing every piece of beskar armor from The Mandalorian’s body. When you’re done, Din heads toward the refresher without a word.  You want to cry, he’s obviously mad at you - if it isn’t for the trivial fight from earlier in the day, it’s obviously because you almost killed yourself and put his and Cobb’s lives at risk. You can’t hide your feelings anymore. An overwhelming wave of raw emotions hits you and you rush to your bedroom. Outside, the weather matches the storm inside your head. 

A deep soothing voice shakes you out of your thoughts. You can’t really say how long you’ve stayed huddled on your bed. Maybe minutes, maybe hours.

“Hey, you know he’s not mad at you, right?”

Cobb is leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows when to leave you space, but also when to check on you. You raise red eyes and a runny nose toward him. 

“Actually I think he’s mad at himself.” 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s mad because he upset you and you left, because you got lost and he almost failed to protect you.” He pauses, crosses his arms on his chest. “Actually I’m also mad at myself, for not fixing that damn speeder bike earlier.”

You gasp, you’ve almost forgotten that part. The stolen bike is likely buried in sand as you speak. And if it’s still in one piece at the end of the storm, it should not take long before some jawas find it. 

“I’m so sorry about that, Cobb, I… I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“It’s ok, it was a rusty scrap of metal anyway.”

Cobb lets out a chuckle, mischief back in his eyes. 

“Although I may have to arrest you, you know, since I’m a Marshal and you’re a _thief_. Let me find my handcuffs!” he concludes with a wink, and you can’t help but smile at how corny he sometimes is. 

“Now let’s see Din, he needs us I think.” 

He grabs your hand to help you get up, and leads you to his room. The storm is still raging outside, and it’s dark, probably early in the night.   
He knocks on the door, opens it slowly, and in the very dim ray of light that flows into the room, you can guess Din’s back and a glimpse of his soft brown hair. He’s sitting on the bed, facing the opposite wall. Cobb shuts the door behind you both, casting the room into darkness. 

  
“I’m sorry…”

“Please forgive me…”

Din and you both start speaking at the same time.  There is a second of silence, before he resumes.

“No need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re here and safe now.”

His voice is unusually soft, a little less deep than through the modulator, more vulnerable, more  _ human _ . It’s always a bit weird to hear his real voice, but at the same time you’re grateful to be able to hear it in the first place.

You climb on the bed, and you carefully reach for him, hugging him from behind. He grabs your hands and brings them to his lips, leaving kisses on your scuffed knuckles. You melt into his touch, and you both stay silent, but there is no discomfort between you. The sound of the wind outside is strangely comforting, some sort of a peculiar lullaby. The whole pressure of the day is finally released, and the only thing left is your gratitude and love for the two warriors in your life.


	6. The Chiss (Din/Cobb/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is the last chapter! I had not intended for it to be *this* dark, but here we are. It ends well though. 
> 
> TW for this specific chapter : (it stays within canon-typical violence) alcohol, murder, corpse, injuries, threat of slavery, gun violence

And then there is the time when you can save yourself. 

As the weeks pass by, you spend your days taking care of Cobb’s home, or working odd jobs here and there in Mos Pelgo, helping townsfolk with their businesses, trying to make some credits. You don’t really have a plan for your professional future right now. But regarding your freetime, you  _ do _ have a plan. You’ve asked Din to train you in close combat. At first, he was reluctant, but you convinced him it was about guaranteeing your own safety and  _ not _ becoming a bounty hunter or some sort of hitman like him. 

His lessons were not the easiest to follow. He was patient, but he treated you with no special privileges, barely restraining his force when throwing you on the ground if you failed to escape his attack. He saw no point in playing soft or fair since a real-life aggressor would not be. You learned how to dodge and duck, how to aim for the weakest points of your opponent, and how to use your speed and lightness as a strength against what would likely be a bigger and stronger enemy. It was not about defeating an attacker. The spirit of the lessons were more about how to escape, run and hide efficiently. 

You dreaded his lessons as much as you waited impatiently for them. You were pretty sure Din voluntarily over-played his toughness for the first couples of training sessions in order to test your will to really learn those techniques. But you could almost hear the proudness in his voice after each particularly grueling practice. Of course, your body was not spared, and more often than not you ended up with bruises and scratches in unexpected places. You had to reassure him quite a handful of times you were okay with this, because his guilt and fear of really hurting you was ever so present. He always took a moment after your lessons to take care of you, applying soothing balm over your bruises or bacta on your cuts, and those rare instances made you feel like you virtually were his equal, a warrior as well, not afraid of getting hurt in a fight. Of course Cobb always looked at the both of you with concern and suspicion, because he knew too well he was the one who would end up going shopping for medication and handling your healing process in the long run. 

But Cobb was also an integral part of your plan. You couldn’t live with one of the best gunslingers in the area and not ask him to teach you how to use a blaster. The lessons were definitely easier to follow, and way less demanding. Cobb was a fun teacher, and while he was serious when sharing his knowledge, he made sure your training stayed enjoyable. Cracking jokes and delivering corny punchlines, calling you all sorts of outdated cute nicknames and cheering on you when you would finally shoot in the middle of the makeshift target of the day. Besides teaching you how to aim, he also showed you how to pull your gun faster than an adversary, the key to winning any fight according to him. When he was too tired after a long day of work to take you out, he would stay home and show you basic blaster maintenance. You would watch, mesmerized as he methodically disassembled his own gun before cleaning it, and re-assembling it with a speed you would not believe possible. Din would usually scoff at his little manly and self-indulgent demonstration, but you bet he was also impressed because you could clearly see the way his visor kept focusing on Cobb’s large and skillful hands. With their guidance, it took only a handful of weeks for you to feel more confident about your chances of survival in a fight. 

While you suspected Din and Cobb both knew what motivated you to ask for their training, they never pushed you for any answers. It was about claiming your independence back, claiming your body back, and also a little bit about being prepared in the eventuality you’ll cross paths again with a certain Chiss slaver. 

And then, one day, this eventuality becomes reality. 

Din, Cobb and you, as well as a couple of other villagers have made the trip to Mos Eisley for a few days, in order to gather needed rare supplies, from mechanical parts to special medicine or new droids. 

It’s your first day in the big town when you catch a glimpse of him, in the market. A flash of bright-blue in your peripheral vision. At first, you dismiss the alarm signal your brain sends you. It’s not because the alien is a Chiss, that it was  _ this _ Chiss. But when he turns his face ever so slightly, you recognize him with no room for doubt. You try to stay calm and act like it’s nothing even though your mind is on a code-red alert. 

You spend the rest of the day on edge, and you’re pretty sure Din and Cobb have noticed. As you all three settle in the small room you’re renting for the time of your stay, your suspicion is confirmed when Mando finally let out the question that was on his mind all day long. 

“About who we saw in the market today, what do you want us to do about it?” 

The tone is severe, no emotion in it, like a soldier ready to take any order. You left a moment of silence.

“I want to handle this myself.” you answer with a surprisingly determined voice. 

Cobb’s brows furrow, he runs a hand on his face, and lets himself fall on one of the small beds. He lets out a sigh before adding an ominous “That’s what I feared.”. 

You cut short to the discussion, because even if a Marshal and a Mandalorian want to discourage you to go on with this idea for your own safety, you’re still your own person. It’s  _ your choice _ to make. They don’t push it, and you go to sleep with a very clear objective in your mind. 

The next day, you see him again. He’s still in the marketplace and he’s accompanied by a couple of twi’leks in chains he seems to be trying to sell. It’s easy to forget what’s going on outside of the safe haven of Mos Pelgo, but here in Mos Eisley slavery is still a thing and the Republic isn’t in any rush to make it stop. It disgusts you, and your resolution only strengthens. You don’t have any specific plan about how you want to do it but everything falls into place when you spot him in a Cantina later that day. 

The suns are already setting when your little group decides to go grab a drink. The Cantina is crowded with travelers and local inhabitants, but the tall Chiss is hard to miss. Of course, you two bodyguards have noticed him as well. As the night goes on, your eyes never cease to dart out of your booth and you have trouble focusing on what your lovers are discussing. Cobb is sipping on his third beer, relaxed. Din is playfully grazing his hand on Cobb’s knees while speaking, getting drunk in his own way. You, you barely touch your drink, too focused on your target. 

Then everything happens really fast. You see the Chiss getting up from his stool and leaving, but Cobb and Din are now sitting at the very back of your booth and can’t see what’s happening. You smile at them and say you just need to use the bathroom before slowly walking out of their visual field with a calculated casualness. As soon as you reach the other side of the cantina, you slip out of the place amongst a few other clients. The night is clear, and the freshness of the air is welcome after the moist and warm atmosphere of the cantina. Your heart beats so fast in your chest it’s the only thing you can hear. Adrenaline is flowing through your veins like the most powerful drug in the galaxy, and you feel invincible. 

The Chiss is walking further in the main street, and you start following him, your hand resting on the blaster on your hip, hidden under your long jacket. He’s alone, and as you silently creep behind him while he turns into smaller and smaller streets, there is no one left around you. 

Suddenly, he stops in the middle of the alley. Without even turning back, he starts speaking.

“How long are you gonna follow me like this? You missed me?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. You’re a bit taken aback.

“You know who I am?” 

He finally turns to face you.

“I had a doubt when I saw you earlier but then, I recognized the Mandalorian sitting at the cantina. Quite hard to hide such shiny armor.” he seems very amused by the situation. “I hope you had fun removing that chip, can’t wait to put a new one in your brain. And maybe I should have you branded. So no one will steal my property this time. I have to warn you though, it might be a bit painful.” He’s obviously getting high on his own cruelty. 

“Stop it.” you growl through gritted teeth, barely recognizing your own voice. 

But he goes on.

“Don’t worry, my crew will also take care of your two boyfriends. I’m sure they will greatly enjoy the little noises you’ll make when I’ll carve my mark into your skin in front of them, and then...” 

“I said  _ stop it _ .”

If there was any doubt left in you before this encounter, now it is clearer than ever: you need to end this. You need to end  _ him _ . 

Your hand reaches for your blaster but he’s quicker and he’s on you before you can do anything. He runs into you with all his strength, his right shoulder in your ribs, and you both fall on the ground. Your blood is already so full of adrenaline, the usual flashbacks don’t even have the chance to cloud your mind. The pain in your chest doesn’t register either. Your body reacts almost on its own, the long hours training with Din have you move on instinct. Your fist flies up into his nose which breaks into an awful noise, then to his eyes, while you try to kick him in the guts with your knee. He’s taken by surprise but not ressourceless and he has the time to hit your cheek before you manage to crawl from under him. He lets out a grunt of pain and tries to get back up on his feet, but it’s too late. The red lasers of the blaster blinds you. You fire once, twice, more times than you care to count. The Chiss in front of you falls flat on his face, finally silent. 

You’re panting, on your knees, a steaming blaster in your hands. The cold air of the night useless to soothe your thrumming body, skin hot like flames were lapping at you, head spinning. The hurried footsteps suddenly stopping behind you take you out of your frenzy. 

“Told you.” Cobb says with a shove into Mando’s side, before prudently crouching beside you, gently taking the blaster out of your hands. 

“I’ve got you sweetheart.” he whispers softly while he helps you get fully up. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head, still high on adrenaline, not feeling the swelling of your cheek, your scratched palms and what is probably a cracked rib. Cobb is not convinced.

“Well, I doubt that, but we need to go now. Don’t want anyone to find us near this corpse.”

“No, wait!” you clear your throat and lower your voice “We need to take his access cylinder, and check out his ship, make sure there’s no one left chained in there.”

“Then we move now.” Din speaks at last, tone flat, and it’s hard for you to tell what he thinks of this whole mess. He sees you have a moment of hesitation, not really in a rush to search a dead body, and he spares you the gritty work, turning the corpse on his back and rummaging in the pockets and satchels of the dead Chiss to find what you’ll need. 

You all leave the crime scene silently, running straight to the spaceport to find his ship. It’s empty, except for quite a few credits Din is happy to steal. The way back to your inn seems incredibly long, but you need the lengthy walk in the fresh air to let the pressure go down. You can hear Din and Cobb talk to each other behind you with low and concerned voices, but you don’t really care. Their conversation doesn’t last though, they catch up with your pace, and The Marshal slips a protective arm around your shoulder, which stays here for the rest of the way.

When you finally reach your room, dawn is only a couple of hours away, and exhaustion is hitting you like a wall. You crash on your bed, barely taking the time to kick off your shoes before rolling on your back and passing out, not even bothering to slip under the sheets.    


The two suns are already pretty high in the sky when you wake up the next day. Most of your clothes are folded on the foot of your bed and there is a blanket drawn onto you. You guess Din and Cobb couldn’t let you sleep in your leather jacket and dusty cargo pants.  _ Thinking of them _ , you don’t know where they are because the room is empty. You sit up, and you let out a groan of pain. Your ribs hurt like hell, your head aches from dehydration and overall you feel like you were hit by a running bantha. You manage to make it to the refresher, and you gulp long sips of water directly from the tap of the washbasin, consciously avoiding the reflection of your bruised cheek in the mirror. The water tastes like sand with an aftertaste of bleach but at least it’s potable -  _ it is, right? _ You chose to believe it’s clean and settle under the thin water spray of the shower, trying to wash away the dirt of the past night.

With fresh clothes on and a clean face, you feel a little bit better, but there is still no trace of Mando and the Marshal. You don’t have to wonder where they are for very long though, because you soon hear their voices echoing in the hallway before the door slides open. 

“Hello sunshine” Cobb’s grin could almost be enough to make you smile. “How are ya’ feeling? You must be hungry.”    
He gestures at Din and a little box full of steaming food is delivered on your knees. 

“Thanks.” 

The street food is not the most appetizing you ever saw, probably too greasy and too salty, but your belly rumbles in anticipation and you start eating without any further ado. 

There is an awkward moment of silence between the three of you, no one really knows what to say regarding the fact you murdered someone for the first time of your life a few hours ago. 

“He saw it coming and he deserved it.” 

Din finally breaks the silence, voice steady through the modulator, and it’s like he’s reading your mind.  _ Can Mandalorians even do that? _

“You don’t have to feel guilty. Now the only thing that matters is you and your future.”

“And that broken rib we need to heal.” Cobb’s sounds amused “don’t try to fool me by saying you’re okay” he adds with a smirk, his own way of dealing with the situation.

You chuckle and you immediately regret it because it makes you wince. 

“You got a point, Cobb.” you admit. 

The couple next days are so uneventful, if it wasn’t for the pain still lingering in your chest, you could swear you dreamed what happened that egregious night. Nobody is really bothered by another random slaver missing after a party night at a cantina, especially not the local authorities. The streets are still full of busy travelers, the market full of loud merchants, the bars full of singing drunks. Mos Eisley is the same, even if you’re not anymore.

Nevertheless the trip back to Mos Pelgo still feels like relief. 

You’re sitting between the Marshal and the Mandalorian in the transport, neatly tucked between a warm shoulder and cold beskar. Cobb’s fingers are absent-mindedly rubbing circles into your thigh, and you can hear the regular breathing of Din through his modulator. Combined with the soft buzzing of the ship, you feel like you could almost fall asleep. 

You’re glad to be coming back to the small desert town. Glad to set foot on its dusty streets. Even glad to find again your tiny bedroom in Cobb’s house. 

You realize the trip back to Mos Pelgo does not only feel like  _ relief _ . 

It feels like more than that.

It feels like finally coming  _ home _ .

And no matter how many times the two warriors who crossed your path a few months ago had to save you, no matter how many more times they will have to, you now know you can also be your own savior. 

You now know you can also be your own  _ hope _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this story! Hope you liked it :3


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